A.N: Spoilers: It's not that kind of first time.
The next day, Johnny sat at his desk, pretending to listen to the droning voice of his physics teacher as equations filled the whiteboard. His pencil spun idly between his fingers, but his mind was miles away—soaring somewhere above the clouds where the wind was cold and the world was small.
To be fair, focus hadn't exactly been one of his strong suits lately. Not since the day he discovered he could burst into flames and fly across the city like a human rocket. Schoolwork just didn't seem all that important compared to that.
And then there was everything else—the little things that had started to change.
He glanced down at his hands. They didn't look that different, but they felt stronger but also lighter. Matter of fact, his whole body did. Between yesterday and today, he'd finally checked the scale at home—partly because of Eve's comment—and the number had shocked him.
231 pounds (105 kg) before.
180 (82 kg) now.
He'd lost over fifty pounds in just a few days.
At first, he thought the scale was broken. But the reflection in the mirror told a different story. His face was sharper, his jawline visible for the first time in… well, ever. His arms weren't soft anymore; there was definition there now, faint but real. His chest was firmer. His abs—abs!—were starting to show through the fading layer of fat.
It was surreal.
So this is what superpowers do, huh? he thought, tapping his pencil against the desk. Forget protein shakes and treadmills—I just gotta flame on and i will burn calories like a furnace.
He had a theory, too: the more he flew, the faster it happened. The first night he tested his limits, zipping across half the city until he nearly passed out, he woke up the next morning lighter than before. His powers weren't just setting things on fire—they were fueling off him. Burning fat, reshaping muscle, maybe even altering his metabolism altogether.
And honestly? He wasn't complaining.
For years he'd struggled with his weight—skipping workouts, hating his reflection, pretending the jokes didn't sting. But now, all of that frustration was literally melting away every time he ignited.
He leaned back in his chair, smirking faintly. Who needs gym class when you can just fly at Mach 2?
Of course, there was a downside.
People were starting to notice.
He caught a few students whispering near the window, their eyes flicking toward him. It wasn't the usual mocking or bored glances he was used to—it was curiosity. One of the girls from the next row even nudged her friend and whispered, "Who's the new guy?"
New guy.
That made him grin internally.
It was weird—surreal, even—to realize that some of his own classmates didn't recognize him anymore. A few who did just stared, clearly trying to figure out what had changed so fast. He'd gone from the chubby kid everyone overlooked to someone who suddenly turned heads when walking down the hall.
It felt good. Better than he wanted to admit.
Still, a small part of him wondered if this was all temporary. What if the next time he flamed on, his body couldn't keep up? What if it was doing something worse than just burning fat?
He shook the thought away. No point worrying about it now.
However, another thought crept into his mind, one that had been haunting him for weeks: using his powers for something other than fooling around. After all, his dream had always been to become a superhero, like Omni-Man, or like the Guardians of the Globe. He pictured them soaring through the air, saving people, standing tall before chaos. A hero that helped others. A hero that made people smile when he arrived. A hero that saved without hesitation or doubt.
That was what he wanted to be. That was the image that kept his heart racing at night when he couldn't sleep.
The only reason he hadn't tried yet was simple—he still didn't have full control over his powers. He was improving, sure, but it was unpredictable. Sometimes he could fly steady, smooth like a jet gliding through open skies. Other times, he'd spin out of control like a bottle rocket. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally torch a rooftop—or worse, someone.
Still, he couldn't help thinking: every hero starts somewhere.None of them were experts the moment they put on a suit. Even Omni-Man must've stumbled once, right?Burned a few things by accident, overshot a few landings, maybe? Johnny chuckled quietly at the thought, earning a confused look from the girl sitting beside him. He quickly straightened up, pretending to take notes.
But his mind was already elsewhere. He could almost feel the rush of wind against his face, the fire crackling beneath his skin, the heat building in his chest like a second heartbeat. It was calling him—urging him to get out there.
"So they wouldn't be harm in patrolling Chicago a little today…" he muttered under his breath, just low enough that no one heard.
Maybe after school. Just a quick flight around the city. Nothing too crazy. No fights, no big rescues—just a test run.
He smiled faintly to himself, tapping his pencil against the desk as the bell finally rang.
His decision was made.
---
"Let's GOOOOO!!" Johnny shouted, his laughter bubbling up as he shot through the air above Chicago. The wind roared past his ears, and the rush of freedom made his heart pound faster than ever. The city stretched out beneath him—glass towers, long avenues, and the distant shimmer of Lake Michigan.
RIght now, he wasn't Johnny Storm anymore. He was The Human Torch.
Or at least, he was trying to be.
The first few minutes were clumsy but exhilarating. He zipped past clouds, tried looping once, and ended up spiraling uncontrollably for several seconds before barely catching himself. "Okay, okay—too much roll! Gotta work on that…" he muttered, steadying his flight path.
He couldn't stop grinning, though. Every second felt like a dream come true.
Then, as he flew over the downtown area, a sound caught his attention—a loud explosion echoed off the buildings below. Then he saw how the smoke was rising from a few blocks away, and through the chaos of car alarms and distant shouts, he spotted people running out of a bank.
"Whoa… is that…?" His eyes widened. "A robbery?!"
For a moment, his heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. This is it. My first heroic act. Time to prove I can do this.
Without thinking twice, he angled downward. "Alright, Johnny, you got this! Just land… smoothly… and—whoa, whoa, WHOA!"
He crashed into the pavement about ten feet short of the bank entrance, rolling several times before skidding to a stop. Groaning, he pushed himself up, brushing dust from his clothes. "Nailed it…" he muttered sarcastically.
Inside the bank, three masked robbers were shouting at terrified customers. One was stuffing cash into a duffel bag, another waved a gun toward the security guard, and the third was watching the door.
Johnny took a deep breath, flames flickering across his arms. "Okay… I just gotta scare them off. That's it. Easy."
He burst through the shattered doorway, trying to look as heroic as possible. "Alright, guys! Party's over!" he shouted.
Every head turned to look at him, specially those from the robbers.
One of the robbers blinked. "Who the hell is this clown?"
"Name's Human Torch!" Johnny announced proudly, though his voice cracked halfway through. "And you're all gonna—uh—drop your weapons and surrender peacefully!"
The gunman frowned. "Kid, you serious right now?"
"Totally serious!" Johnny said, raising his hand dramatically. "Because if you don't, I'll have to—uh—ignite you or something!"
"Or something?" one robber mocked.
"Yeah, or—oh, forget it!"
Johnny clenched his fists, and flames roared to life around him. The robbers stumbled back, startled by the sudden burst of heat. One of them panicked and fired a shot—completely missing Johnny, but hitting a ceiling light that shattered above the hostages.
"Hey! Watch where you're aiming!" Johnny yelled—then froze. Wait, did I just scold the bad guys?
He tried to move forward, but his foot caught on a piece of rubble, sending him stumbling into a desk. The impact made him lose focus for a split second—and the flames around him flared out wildly, scorching a nearby poster and setting off the fire alarm.
"Crap, crap, crap—okay, stay cool! Uh—no, stay hot! Actually—ah, whatever!" Johnny flailed his flaming arms, trying to snuff out the growing blaze on the corner of the bank's wall. The fire alarm shrieked above him, smoke filling the air. Every second he spent fumbling, the robbers got farther away.
The three men bolted through the shattered doorway, sprinting for their getaway car parked across the street. The moment Johnny turned around, they were already halfway inside.
"Oh no you don't!" he shouted, his voice cracking with adrenaline. He ignited fully, flames roaring to life around him like an explosion. The ground scorched beneath his feet as he blasted forward, shooting out of the bank like a human missile.
The sudden acceleration almost knocked the breath out of him. He overshot the street, veering upward and barely avoiding a lamppost. "Whoa! Too much thrust! Way too much!" he yelled, wobbling in the air before regaining his balance.
Below him, the robbers' car screeched into traffic, weaving between honking vehicles as they sped through the streets of Chicago. Johnny could see the driver yelling something to the others, probably wondering what kind of maniac had just burst into flames behind them.
"Alright, guys," Johnny muttered, narrowing his eyes. "You had your chance."
He dipped lower, as his fire trail reflected off glass storefronts and pedestrians screamed and scattered. The wind whipped past his ears as he followed the speeding car through downtown.
He was fast—way faster than he expected—but steering through tight streets was another story. Every time he tried to turn sharply, he either climbed too high or nearly scraped the side of a building.
"Come on, Johnny, think! Think! You've seen this in movies!"
He pushed forward, as he kept his pace with that of the car. Inside, one of the robbers turned and saw him through the back window—his face went pale.
"Holy crap! The guy's on fire!"
Johnny grinned despite himself. "That's right! And now I'm—uh—bringing the heat?" He cringed immediately. "Okay, terrible line. Need to work on that."
The driver tried to shake him by swerving into a narrower side street. Johnny followed, threading through the alley like a streak of fire. The walls were close enough that he could feel the heat bouncing back at him.
Then, an idea hit him. "Wait a second… tires are rubber, right? Rubber burns!"
Without thinking it through, he dove closer to the car. The heat waves around his body shimmered against the metal roof as he lined himself up behind them. "Just a little closer…"
He extended his hand and focused, channeling the flame downward like a blowtorch. A jet of fire shot from his palm, striking the back wheel. The rubber sizzled, black smoke curling up instantly.
The driver panicked, jerking the wheel as the car started to fishtail. "What the hell is happening?! Did he melt the tires?!"
Johnny whooped. "Ha! It's working!"
The second tire caught soon after, bursting into flame. The car spun out of control, screeching across the asphalt before slamming into a trash bin and skidding to a stop against a fire hydrant. Water burst upward, hissing as it hit the street and the flames around Johnny.
Hovering a few feet above the ground, he pumped his fist. "YES! Nailed it!"
Then he looked around—sirens in the distance, people staring, phones recording. The car was now smoking, and one of the robbers crawled out of the passenger door, coughing.
Johnny landed awkwardly, his sneakers melting slightly against the wet asphalt. "Uh—don't move, villains! The Human Torch has you surrounded!"
There was a beat of silence before one of the crooks, drenched from the hydrant spray, glared up at him. "Surrounded by what, kid? Yourself?"
Johnny hesitated. "Well, technically, yeah… but—oh, forget it!" He tried to pose heroically, but slipped a bit on the wet street, catching himself with a nervous laugh. "You're under arrest! Or… you will be once the cops get here!"
A moment later, police cars turned the corner, red and blue lights flashing. The robbers froze, realizing they were done for.
Johnny looked up at the officers arriving, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he probably looked—smoke rising from his hair, his clothes half-burned, and steam rolling off his arms.
"Guess… first mission success?" he said softly, trying to sound cool.
Then the nearest hydrant burst again, splashing him full in the face and snuffing out his flames entirely.
"…Okay, maybe half success," he muttered, he was dripping wet as the cops took over.
"Having fun, kid?" Asked a familiar voice that made him turn up his head to find him in front of him.
"You again?" Asked Johnny as he stared at Cecil.
The cops were swarming the scene now, shouting orders and pulling the robbers from the car. Johnny stood awkwardly at the edge of it all, unsure if he should stay or just… leave before someone started asking questions.
That's when a voice came from behind him that made him turn.
"Having fun, kid?"
Johnny spun around, blinking through the mist. Standing there, hands in his coat pockets, was the same man he'd seen near Oscorp yesterday—Cecil. The guy looked completely out of place amid the chaos: calm eyes behind a pair of tinted glasses, a small smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, and an aura that screamed 'I know more than you do.'
"You again?" Johnny asked, still catching his breath. "What, are you following me or something?"
Cecil tilted his head slightly. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just a coincidence that you've gone from science fair student to walking flamethrower overnight."
Johnny frowned. "Okay, I don't know who you are, but I don't appreciate the stalker vibes." He crossed his arms, immediately regretting it when he remembered his sleeves were half-burned. "And for your information, I was just… helping out. Hero stuff, you know?"
"Yeah, I saw," Cecil said, his voice dry. "You helped the robbers crash into a fire hydrant, almost set a bank on fire, and nearly concussed yourself on a billboard."
Johnny winced. "Hey, everyone's gotta start somewhere, right?"
Cecil's smirk deepened. "Sure. Most people start with training wheels. You went straight for pyrotechnics and property damage." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You've got power, kid. But zero control. That's a dangerous mix."
Johnny bristled a little, trying not to show how much that stung. "Yeah, well, it's not like there's a manual for this kind of thing. I'm figuring it out."
"Oh, I'm sure you are," Cecil said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black card, flicking it between his fingers before holding it out. "When you're done 'figuring it out,' call that number. Maybe we can help you not set half of Chicago on fire next time."
Johnny hesitated before taking the card. It was simple—no name, no logo, just a number printed in silver ink. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked.
Cecil smiled faintly, already turning away. "Let's just say… someone who keeps an eye on people like you."
Johnny blinked, watching him walk off into the crowd like a shadow fading into daylight. "That's not creepy at all," he muttered under his breath. He looked down at the card again, as curiosity gnawed at him.
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